PS 

3501 




H Y L A S 

And Other Poems 

Edwin Preston Dargan 




Class 

Book AilUil 

Copyright }J"___Z:^^ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



H YIv A S 



AND OTHER POEMS 



EDWIN PRESTON DARGAN 




BOSTON 

RICHARD G. BADGER 

THE GORHAM PRESS 
19IO 



Copyright 1909 by Edwin P. Dargan 



All Rights Reserved 






The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A 



GLA2533G7 



DEDICATION 

A celle dont la voix ravine falUgresse, 
A celle dont la main sail efleurer le coeur 
Sans blesser, pour guerir; a la chere Princesse 
Lointaine de fAzur, du Reves, du bonheur! 



CONTENTS 

Hylas: An Elegy. ,..,....., 9 

Lyrics 

IVings of Sunset 19 

There is a Garden 21 

A Friend 23 

Out of the Past 24 

^'Siint Lachrymae Rerum'^ 25 

Paragot to Joanna 26 

Lindor to Enriqueta 28 

Pellegrini D' A more. 29 

A Day of Love 30 

Schweigen Im Walde 31 

Meditations. 

Whom the Gods Love 35 

A Blind Man Speaks 36 

Ocean 37 

In the Ragged Mountains 39 

Hoc Exiguum 42 

A Creed 43 

Weltgeist 44 

Sonnets 

Keats 51 

Landor 52 

'' Sonnets From the Portugese^' 53 

Morning Glories 54 

5 



CONTENTS 

Violets 55 

Roses 56 

*'A Alonhenfs Ornament^' 57 

Rosemary for Remembrance 58 

A I Amor Dei Lumhre 59 

Dream of a Tryst 60 

Finis 61 

Lux Oceano 62 

Alone 64 

To a Portrait by Shannon 65 

''The Golden Rose'' 66 

A Singer at a Matinee 67 

Casaiibon to Dorothea 68 

Nebulous 69 



HYLAS: AN ELEGY 



*^For, sparing of his sacred strength, not often 

Among lis darkling here the lord of light 

Makes manifest his music and his might 
In hearts that open and in lips that soften 

With the soft flame and heat of songs that 
shine. 

Thy lips indeed he touched with bitter wine, 
And nourished them indeed with bitter bread; 

Yet surely from his hand thy soul's food 
came^ 

The fire that scarred thy spirit at his flame 
Was lighted, and thine hungering heart he fed 

Who feeds our hearts zvith fame/' 



HYLAS: AN ELEGY 

{In Memory of Algernon Charles Swinburne ^ 
died April lo, 1909.) 

Thy winds have walled it and thy seas have 
borne 

The throbbing word : our latest minstrel 
leaves 

His jewel-isle whose lone Urania grieves. 

Thy winds have wailed it and thy seas shall 
mourn ! 

The monarchs are no more — as thou hast 
willed; 
And England's robe is torn 

By desperate hands, her heart has turned 
and thrilled, 
Her lordliest lion dies, the race of lions is ful- 
filled. 

That dark and lovely crypt spreads not her 
gates 

For one whose brows no ruler's laurel 
crowned ; 

Scorner of laws and kingdoms, no set 
ground 

Hallowed by all thy brethren supplicates 

Thy dust; no boyhood's angel-seeming 
choir 
For one who fronted Fates, 

Singer of Hertha and stark Life's desire. 
No wreaths save those of Proserpine, no re- 
quiem but a lyre ! 

9 



Nay, they have found an ampler place for 
thee, 

Where hollows of great billows in each 
fold 

Take sunset-robes of laminated gold. 

Thy fathers' church-yard and thy Mother- 
Sea 

Shall give their child an airier sweeter rest. 
If any rest may be 

For feet that trod the mad eternal quest. 
For him who once hath known that luring 
Cytherean breast. 

Thou canst not rest ! Thou canst not sink 
and share 

Earth's random immortality, be a bed 

For flowers that nodding seawards o'er thy 
head 

Make thee to yearn and stir; for men de- 
clare 

Thy churchyard swiftly crumbles to the 
wave, 
Thy leaping heart shall fare 

Forth to remembered tempests; and thy 
grave 
Shall shudder from thee. Who shall uplift 
thee then, and who shall save? 



lO 



Around thee silver tresses oi the storm 
Weave perilous spells, and thou shalt be 

the joy . 1 1 J 

Of lithe and twining naiads that decoy 
To the hush'd halls below; as once the 

warm , >» •, j 

Dark Ephydatia and the April-eyed 



Nycheia stole the form 
Whose bending beauty they had well des- 

Above the pale stream's edge, full-mooned, 
while Mysian shepherds cried : 

"O Hylas, Hylas, Hylas!" Then the Chi an 
Cliifs were dismayed with wrath ot IrLer- 

akles 
And ArgJ's men on farther toiling seas 
Heard their lost hero call, a stricken lion, 
-O Hylas, Hylas!", in the sad night, alone. 

And now what nymphs of Dian 
Shall greet their coming lord, while the 

slow tone i i „ 

Of grave winds' diapason wakes the loves 

that thou hast known? 



II 



0*er brightest waves their gleaming net Is 

spread — 
Fellse and Fragoletta and Faustlne — 
The newer darlings, mutable of mien, 
Our fear, our vision ! Back from the ban- 
ished dead 
Come Mary, queen, and Sappho who had 
burned 
To clasp so dear a head; 
Behold thy panther-mistress, whose body 
turned 
Shark-wise and leapt upon thee for the prey 
she took and spumed! 

Comes Messalina In her gilded shame, 
And all the queens of quivering honeyed 

breath, 
Planting red love upon the lips of Death. 
Fair names and strange we know, but not 

the Name 
Compact of precious hope and tremulous 

woe 
That ravish and reclaim ! — 
Heard only when our chosen star hangs 

low, 
Breathed only when our aching arms yearn 

for the sunset-glow. 



12 



Through bright and bitter waves they bear 

thee on — 
Sad hard Dolores and wan, Proserpine, 
Tin speeds a maid whose argent shoulders 

shine 
And lift thee nearer holiest Avalon. 
This Is the glitter of flashing limbs that dart 

From lofty Calydon ! 
This Is thine Atalanta, pure of heart, 
Who quells the darker passionate hordes and 

leads thee far apart. 

O dazzling ramparts broldered by the 

wave! 
O radiant saintly City of the Sun ! 
O Avalon, blest Isle ! Since time begun 
Here Is the bourne our vaster longings 

crave ; 
Here farthest Deity calls out, "Aspire!" 

And chosen spirits lave 
Their crimes by splendors of performed 

desire, 
A Paradise for those alone whose souls have 

stormed the fire ! 



13 



The ramparts gird about an Ivory Tower, 
Around which slowly climbs a spiral stair 
Trodden by panting heroes that upbear 
To cloudy heights, to chasm, throne or 

bower 
Lamps of undying flames that soar and 

scorch — 
A Pentecost of power ! 
Whether from maiden shrine or Stoic 

porch 
Above some unknown burning God draws and 

inspires the torch. 

I see thy brothers of the olden faith, 
The beauty-blest, the martyrs then as now. 
Each haunted poet on whose pallid brow 
The Tongue descended; cloud-clad as a 

wraith 
Great Hugo hurls the thunderbolts of yore, 

And child-like Shelley saith : 
"Ah, leave me, Tennyson, I can no more! 
Hylas, take up the torch which once my 

Adonais bore." 



H 



For here thy living fingers seized a brand 
Lit by mad Villon in a dungeon's gloom 
Long since. As once o'er kindling heather 

and broom 
Swift runners sped their flame from hand 

to hand, 
This shalt thou grasp and sweep aloft, till 
pain 
Of failing arms demand 
Proud Landor and Mazzini to sustain, 
And ravening vikings that proclaim Equali- 
ty's slow reign. 

Alas, I cannot sing their Freedom's song! 
I cannot cherish all their brotherhood : 
For ever in Time's widening courts the 

good 
Of all is pleaded by a few; the wrong 
Of multitudes bedims the golden right. 

And shall the blinded throng 
Of tame democracy bear down and blight 
To dull unloveliness the chosen children of 
the light? 



IK 



Yet with this hope I leave thee — there shall 
spring, 

Even while the kindred of our Hylas 
mourn, 

A bearer for the torch that must be borne, 

A wiser lover, strong to work and sing ! 

And startled cities from mean sleep arise 
To praise the poet, king. 

Enchanter, whose white wand shall hu- 
manize 
Dear Beauty, child of God, our waiting sister 
of the skies. 



16 



LYRICS 



WINGS OF SUNSET 

O jewel-star, deriding all desire, 

Deride not mine ! 
Instil In me the golden guarding fire 

That twines a shrine — 
And press from me the hot praise flaming 
higher 

Of vine and wine ! 

Or else, so nobly lonely In thy birth, 

Clear evening star, 
Imbue In me the mellow dewy mirth 

That bore me far, 
Then when my heart had felt no mould of 
earth, 

Nor knew a scar. 



Out from the radiant flame that redly gems 

The waste of air, 
Two crimson pageants wave, that sorrow 
stems 

Or still despair; 
And these were kings adorned with diadems, 

And those were fair ! 

Two foremost shapes that seem the same to 
me 

Uplift their hands. 
Two voices name the throbbing Name to me 

That breaks and brands 
All alien loves that laughing came to me 

In alien lands. 

19 



The frailer figure spoke, a shattered rose, 

And stained with rain : 
*'My name is Abnegation; men my foes 

My wit disdain; 
They hasten where my taller comrade goes — 

My master, Pain." 



The sun forsakes the phantoms as they hover 

Adown the sky. 
The swift rain smites them never to recover — 

The Gleams that die ! 
A cold blast lashes every wishful lover, 

He knows not why. 

Before they go the kings have sworn together 

Beyond return, 
No reborn love shall laugh in April weather, 

Howe'er we yearn — 
No ashes shall revive their whitened feather 

Within the urn. 

They pass, they vanish into realms of Doubt, 

Save where there flows 
Some vapor streamer floating round about; 

As once there rose 
Excalibur, that carved a kingdom out, 

Ere knighthood's close. 



20 



"THERE IS A GARDEN" 

There is a garden by the summer sea, 
Where roses riot all the livelong year, 
Where vivid suns retint incessantly 
Crimson and green regalias, fresh or sere. 
Set in the burning storied South of old, 
There is a garden on this Coast of Gold! 

Stark aloes rise and glistening palms that 

spring 
And spread their tops exultant; and I know 
Where scent-packed feathery mimosas cling 
To passionate oleander-buds aglow. 
Where dust-clad leaves droop from the olive- 
tree. 
There is a garden by the summer sea. 

The terraces and marble balustrades. 

The pebbled walks, the bowers cool and soft 

Are made for dreaming; and the stealing 

shades. 
The night-winds and the fierce mistral how oft 
Have found me yonder where I long to be — 
There is a garden by the summer sea ! 

Beyond the wall the azure waters lie, 
Held by the azure hills. The Esterelles 
Faint in the sapphire of a cloudless sky; 
And one white boat, a fleeting swallow, tells 
Of happy song and vision — Italy! 
There is a garden by the summer sea. 



2X 



But when the moonlight seeks the Coast of 

Gold 
And drives a quivering ruddy serpent's trail 
Within the ripples — when the wind grows 

cold, 
Comes to the garden one who shall not fail, 
Black-robed, in witching dance, alert and 

free ! . . . 
There is a garden by the summer sea. 

Oh, let my words blow with the breezes there, 
And let her shielding pinions close enfold 
Warm Memory's body from this wintry air! 
There is a garden on the Coast of Gold, 
Hinting of heaven — there is a place for me — 
There is a garden by the summer sea ! 



22 



A FRIEND 

He who'll accuse me, 
Fairly abuse me, 

Make me or mend — 
Prosper and drink with me. 
Close eyes and sink with me. 

That is a friend. 

Knowing my failing, 
Spite of my railing 

Never to bend ; 
Loving the best of me, 
Nursing the rest of me: 

That is a friend. 

He who will share with me. 
Fare with me, bear with me, 

Up to the end ; 
Willing to lie for me. 
All to defy for me, 
Asking to die for me — 

That is my friend! 



23 



OUT OF THE PAST 

I know a song whose words are made of tears, 

Shadowy, solemn, sweet; 
Borne from the glory of the golden years 

Whose tale is now complete. 

I know a voice that fills me with its sadness. 

So mournfully it seems 
Unceasingly to wake the buried madness 

Of long-forgotten dreams. 

I know a soul which shares with that of mine 

The pain of darksome ways. 
Which craves and crowns the vanished joy di- 
vine 

Of happier, saintlier days. 

O voice of sympathy, O song of sorrow, 

O brave enduring soul, 
Somewhere before us in the mystic morrow 

A faith shall make us whole. 



24 



"SUNT LACHRYMAE RERUM . . ." 

You sang, and the words were rounded 
pearls — 

You ceased, and the night was lead. 
The dark crawled in. The Moment was 

Captured and smothered and dead. 
Oh, melody ! Is there a farthest star 
To hold the tears where the wonders are? 
"Immortal, I bide my Judgment Bar," 

The perishing Moment said. 

We kissed, and that was the soonest done. 

And little left to do. 
Shadow and silence stole across 

The face, the flower of You. 
Was it the wisest? They alone 
Who saw First Void below the throne 
And leapt remember — and ii-e have known 

What falling angels knew. 

I swear those pitiful moments die 

Like babes, of the after-cold! 
They shine like a sudden lantern-flash 

On hidden heaps of gold. 
The light departs; does the gold remain? 
Have you been as Gods? Be as Gods again! 
And the pitiful beautiful moments slain 

Shall live as of old, of old! 



25 



PARAGOT TO JOANNA 

Did you weep to find me wandered from the 
garden, 
When the sun was slumbering low? 
Did you wholly scorn me then or did you 
pardon 
Long ago? 
Have you wistfully forgiven me, my lover, 

That rival Muse (you said!) — 
But the frosts of years have never sought to 
cover 
Your dear head ! 

Did you fear that fancy's random spark 
would perish. 
As you knew my wayward heart ? 
For I never deemed that household warmth 
could cherish 
Singer's art! 
But oh, my dear, the doubt had fled forever, 

When first I worshipped you; 
And long before I swore your trust had ever 
Kept me true. 

Ah, had I come and spoken in the gloaming, 

Made you believe I cared. 
Had I only sped my fancy in her roaming. 

Had I dared !— 
We should never think it now a thousand 
pities 
That the light has left our sky, 
We should never dwell apart in stranger cit- 
ies. 
You and I . . . 
26 



If I only could have found you in the gar- 
den ! 
Long ago — 
I would ne'er have feared your scorn nor 
needed pardon, 
When the sun was slumbering low. 



27 



LINDOR TO ENRIQUETA 

A lying smile and a wayward glance, 
A sinner's heart led out for a dance 
By the hand of Our Sovereign Lady, 
Chance — 
Rose-colored the morn. 
And so with a laugh the Devil was born. 

Sweet Love, God-given, we called him then, 
The keeper of treasure for famished men. 
Light kisses for arrows, Heart's-chamber his 
den — 
This the carol we sung. 
You and I in the days when the Devil was 
young. 

The depths of darkness where all men go. 
Bitter soul-sorrow which none must know, 
And the poisoned fountain's rancorous flow — 

Hope lay so cold 
In the weary years when the Devil was old. 

A flash of light making all things plain, 
A blinding flash in a desert of pain — 
Life and the kind old world again! 

"Delivered!" I cried. 
For then in his frenzy the Devil had died. 



28 



PELLEGRINI D'AMORE 

When we turned, 

As we burned, 
From the silly city and the black-clad men ; 

When we started 

Throbbing-hearted 
For we knew not what — some splendor 

glimpsed again — 
The stars, tear-seen, shook lances all above 

Our last, fleet 

Mad, sweet 
Adventure in forsaken fields of love. 

And the way, 

As by day, 
Seemed surely to lead out — no matter where I 

But the peace 

Of release 
Made us forget (forewarning of despair) 
The satin pall now brooding close above 

Our last, mad. 

Breathless, bad 
Adventure on the hardy hills of love. 

Then we stopped. 

And I dropped 
Your hand, the proper pathway to attain; 

Through the dire 

Mist and mire 
Came shivering loneliness that cut like rain ! 
Far-seeing gods applauded from above 

This mad, last. 

Grey, aghast 
Adventure in the frozen fields of love. 
29 



A DAY OF LOVE 

The might of a fierce endeavor, 
The pulse of a passion new-born, 

The need to do — now or never! 
The clasping of hands in the morn. 

Ah, sweet! 
The clasping of hands in the morn. 

A song with glad voices unbroken. 
The leaping of hearts in tune. 

Love-words, whispered, unspoken, 
The touch of the lips at noon. 

Ah, sweet! 
The touch of the lips at noon. 

The wasting of flame into ashes, 

(Cold ashes, and who would grieve?) 

The downward droop of the lashes. 
And the falling of tears at eve. 

Ah, sweet! 
The falling of tears at eve. 



30 



SCHWEIGEN LM WALDE 

The world has yet her wonder-spells : 
The eyes that are all trust may see 
That whispering Dryad hidden In her tree; 
Dead Laura In Elysium dwells, 
And Helen sleeps on asphodels, 
But some one lives for me 
And the dear shy violet never tells 
What she says to me — what she says to me. 

The world has yet her wonder-maids : 
Where calm grey beeches stand like towers. 
And slender anemones soothe the hours, 
There dance the leaves In flickering shades, 
And sun with shade the soft charm braids, 
And some one waits for me ! 
In the light that never fades, 
She waits for me — she waits for me. 

Swiftly before the high hills gloom, 
Bun^ the buds In a small moist tomb. 

Where the yellowing leaves with madden- 
ing whirl 

Dance to the wild winds' skreigh and skirl ! 

For the powers of outer darkness loom. 

The shadows fall — we flee . 
Shall I never touch that fluttering curl 
So near to me — so near to me? 



31 



MEDITATIONS 



WHOM THE GODS LOVE 

Gone with the secret closed upon their lips, 
Gone are the best, the beautiful ! They saw 
No glory where the sullen shadow slips. 
They found no pleasure in imperfect law; 

Leaving to us the puzzle and the hate. 
The compromise that cloaks itself as kind 
And human fellowship; ours is the Fate 
That would be constant, were she not so blind. 

But they — do you not feel their nearness 

now? 
Do voices hover in the noiseless air? 
Those eyes, that saintly smile, that stately 

brow. 
They speak, they strive to tell us what and 

where. 

They know ! . . . How tense it is ! Have 

you not heard, 
Echoing from the everlasting hills, 
Some whisper? Oh! for one time-shattering 

word, 
Cross it our purposes, mar it our wills, 

It would outweigh all volumes and all minds 
In all the world ! We are heavy-fated then. 
Each panting soul goes forward till it finds. 
And they went farther, found — and heed not 
men. 



35 



A BLIND MAN SPEAKS 

I squandered light when light was meant for 

doing; 
Now light has left me, and my days are 

blank. 
What recompense is granted for my rueing? 
What spirit still the guileless gods to thank? 

The darkened days flit by in swift pursuing, 
Bright days and fair for those who still may 

mend — 
The young on pleasure bent or petty wooing, 
The elders, mindful of their latter end. 

And those between, who coldly chose ambi- 
tion 
And those who simply linger in the sun — 
All, all can see the flower or its fruition. 
The strong, rejoicing in a race begun. 

While T — but still there's waiting, wisdom, 

learning. 
Ears and three senses more ! Then, or I rust, 
Throw out the coin, and while 'tis in the turn- 
ing, 
I choose for Contemplation — since I must. 



36 



OCEAN 

Over a great sea never rent by rudders, 
On opal waves whose light withdraws and 

shudders, 
A single star hangs heavy from the sky — 
Of heaven the one unknown, unwinking eye. 
What was the star? Why bends it vacant 

gaze 
On that green waste eternal nights of days? 

Here comes no mariner, nor king, nor craven; 
The endless waters never touch a haven; 
The sad star never wept for trust betrayed, 
Nor friendship lost, nor beauty-blighted maid. 
Ah, who can tell what Builder nailed it there. 
To brood alone on waves and empty air ! 

Here comes no priest, nor any step of lovers, 
No voice of God in all that stillness hovers, 
No voice of man, nor beam of fulsome sun, 
And gulls above and fish beneath are none . . . 
No laughter and no murmur and no toil. 
No human soul the Nature-soul to soil. 

Yet somewhere in that all-unchartered space 
The foaming waters angrily give place 
For a steep rock that rises rough and jagged. 
Coated with mosses, dismal, black and 

ragged ; 
And round its edge the green waves run more 

whitely, 
Lacing a garment for that crag unsightly. 

37 



That lonely rock, that faint and stricken star, 
Whose gleam unanswered beckons from afar, 
The wandering graves beneath, that line of 

white — 
And Solitude — and Murder — and grey 

Fright — 

lonely rock, O luring stricken star, 

1 fear to whisper what your portents are ! 



38 



IN THE RAGGED MOUNTAINS 

No more of Ocean — evil sea of Hate! 
The foam that on thy dreadful winds is 

carried 
Comes from pale lips of those whom thou 

hast harried, 
And severed hearts moan of a foolish fate 
Through all thy minstrelsy; in myriad cries 
Thy slain sepultured legions clamor to the 

skies. 

But yonder with the silences that dwell 
Augustly on the snows that close encumber 
Eternal mountains in eternal slumber, 
Bowed to deep rest by some world-wizard's 

spell — 
There shall I roam with wistful heart and 
free, 
A shy and virgin Muse my viewless company. 

The mountains! Oh, the mountains! They 

are mine! 
Their peaks of azure and of amethyst 
Shatter and quell the low and worldly mist; 
Aloft their lordly ramparts dare and shine ! 
My sleeping greyhounds guard the gates 

wherein 
Enter ethereal joys and passion purged of sin. 



39 



Some seek you in your pure communion 
white; 

And some, under full-robed waving boughs 
of green 

Which merry sun-flecks steal and dance be- 
tween, 

Lie in soft haze, forgetful of the fight, 

And mindful only that the month is June — 
Far-off, love may be sweet — but sweeter here 
to swoon. 

And others enter only in the Spring, 
Simple and primal souls, friends of Illusion, 
Content with colored joy and frank profu- 
sion. 
What life abroad, what hands that rise and 

cling! 
What incense-blooms flush and suffuse the 
air, 
Fragile and holy-born, as is a maiden's 
prayer! 

For me, when old October crouches down 
A tawny tiger on your ample breast, 
Watchful of Winter — then, no thought of 

rest ! 
Strength and the sting of winds and skies 

that frown ! 
Is your house swept and bare? Has Death 

begun. 
When changeless laurel smiles beneath a 

brooding sun? 



40 



Firm fastnesses of Hope ! Enduring gods ! 

Courage and freedom were your ancient 
gifts. 

Give more and more to us, whose sick 
faith shifts 

From truth to dismal doubt, from souls to 
clods. 

Let the great hills render their high ac- 
count : 
'*Some stars have dwindled — yes! It is 
enough to mount.'' 



41 



HOC EXIGUUM 

Seemed It such a little time, 

Orator of old? 
Seems It still a lesser time, 

Now your bones are cold? 

The world is but the middle term 

Of one vast syllogism — 
Who would not choose to live a worm. 

If crowned with after-chrism? 

And all the doings of this earth 

Are matters of derision 
To him who sees a newer birth 

In the very newest vision. 

With all my heart! The world is nought; 

But how, most noble Pagan, 
Could you construct a Christian thought. 

While Pan still ruled, or Dagon? 

Full fifty years before the age 

Such doctrine was preferred 
And Plato too . . . O worthy sage. 

If you were disinterred; 

Confronted with the Fathers there. 
What would you have to say ? — 

That the aeons in the hitherwhere 
Still dwarf our little day. 



42 



A CREED 

Lost in a world whose burden grows 
And greatens with the waste of time, 
Bound to a mount no mortal knows, 
Encumbered ever as we climb — 

What hope for him who hears the Voice 
To pause, to follow and obey. 
If the poor heart that should rejoice 
Lies bleeding to the naked day ? 

Yet listen lit is Beauty's call. 
Imperious goddess, art thou near? 
To saint and sinner, to us all 
Thy worship and thy lips are dear. 

Ah, listen ! Though the word of faith 
Should blur upon the open book, 
Though from the past a mournful wraith 
Of vengeance and of fear shall look ! 

Somewhere the beauty made for man 
Shall link herself with humankind; 
Somehow the song that youth began 
Its fuller resonance shall find. 



43 



WELTGEIST 

I am the eager spirit of the Earth. 
Through galloping ages, I have loved to-day 
What I have left to-morrow — in hard play 
Finding all fair and finding nothing worth. 

I am the old authentic spirit of Pain: 

I was with light, with Void In her travailing; 

I dwelt in the Dawn-clad East and held my 

reign 
With shadowy kings that knew not name of 

king. 

Stealing upon the tides that never cease, 

I saw in ancient Asia sages dream — 

Dead eyes and body forgotten — of things 

that seem : 
I am the spirit of all-oblivious Peace. 

I am the spirit of far-off fluttering Hope : 
Between the cloud and the fire I swept the 

land, 
A beacon for that race so rare, so banned. 
That strayed to Canaan and paused on Si- 
nai's slope. 

And I swerved to other sleeping continents, 

where 
White isles on the lovely mother Aegean lay; 
I saw a new sun rise on Eleusis' bay — 
I am the spirit of Beauty and all things fair. 



44 



Where was the goddess whom I dared not 

greet ? 
I knew the whole of Helen's heavenly grace, 
I loved each darling ringlet round Dian's face, 
I followed the lure of Daphne's hurrying feet. 

I loosened the girdle of Aphrodite, 
I strove and conquered Apollo's perfect form. 
And roamed the flowers with Persephone, 
And rode with Triton in the mastering storm ! 

There in the shining isles what songs were 

sung, 
When only could I be the spirit of Joy, 
Of laughing Loves — when all old Love was 

young — 
When Cupid and Psyche were only girl and 

boy! 

Swift on the dawning came the hardy morn; 
Calmly I wore the cloak of Regulus, 
Greatly I bore the heart of Marius, 
And fiercely felt the imperial Roman scorn. 

I am the spirit of a stalwart Faith: 
Clasping the naked cross of Calvary, 
The saints have made all hate a memory — 
"Forgive" and "Follow me" the Spirit saith. 

While even as Fathers prayed the bolt was 

hurled, 
And hordes invincible stretched their hungry 

length 
Along the Alpine slopes to cleanse the world. 
I am the spirit of bare barbarian strength. 

45 



I was a Hun and drained my goblet grim. 
I was a Frank and tossed my flaming hair; 
And lo ! the darkening ages followed dim : 
I am the spirit of a still Despair. 

I was the spirit of a courtly Love, 

When Richard strove from Acre for the 

Tomb ; 
The crescent receded, the red cross rose 

above, 
When Rudel's yearning sails were blurred 

with gloom. 

I was reborn and heard the glad surprise 
Of ancient lore; I saw the glory spread 
That lightens in the rapt Madonnas' eyes — 
It shone in England round our kingliest head. 

I am the scoffing Spirit that Denied. 
Mocking the Mightiest, claiming the law of 

Thought, 
Rearing a Babel of bodies and houses wrought 
Only with hands — for what have ye beside? 

I am the spirit of late-begotten Woe, 
Self-fed, self-torturing, since first he wept 
By harsh Geneva's lake, who sent a flow 
Of fiery tears upon a race that slept. 

Long since the West to the East was calling. 

The East 
Answering follows an ever-flying West; 
The West for the world has spread an open 

feast : 
I am the spirit of Liberty, the blest. 
46 



Yet all Impatient with Progress patent and 

plain, 
So cruel and crude, I pause ; for all is One ; 
And I could weary of wheels that noisily run, 
And I could sigh for the twilight hours again. 

Was I not prouder than Caesar in his pride? 
Was I not wiser than Plato with his lore ? 
I could have had Zenobia for my bride, 
I could have turned Aspasia from my door! 

The kings of the earth were little things to 

me, 
Making amid the rocking stars my home; 
Lapped in the moon's fair fleeces, I would 

roam. 
Watching my poor world turn and shine and 

flee. 

Among slain souls of many, I alone 
Remember Heaven, and I alone am wise — 
Hearing the joy that mingles with the moan, 
Seeing the dead face staring toward the skies. 

There are many worlds and waters. And 

these are mine 
And these are ours, and I, your waiting soul. 
Hold fast your disinheritance divine. 
Knowing the part that merges in the whole. 

Saying, How long, O Lord? And no more 

wild. 
But humble and pleading I almost fear to 

speak. 
Ye are my brothers and sisters and I am weak. 
I am the spirit of a little child. 
47 

4 



SONNETS 



KEATS 

Poet of sunny numbers or of night, 
Poet of starry fays and sylvan gloom, 
But poet ever of the fadeless bloom 
That crowns the brow of Beauty in her might. 
He knew what seizures grip us in the fight. 
What deadly languors bring us to the tomb — 
He knew that in old caverns there is room 
For her whose task it is to hold the light. 



Over those sacred pages will I pore 
Until for me the nightingale shall burn 
Her heart out with her song ! I see return 
Lamia, the many-hued, with Autumn's store 
Of finished blisses — Psyche, as of yore. 
Pants with the flying lovers round their Urn ! 



51 



LANDOR 

Long years before the great Olympian's altar 
Kneeling, you sang his praise. Your incense 

rose 
More fragrant far than all the spice that 

blows 
From Eastern isles : what cause was there to 

falter? 
What need was there with gods of gold to 

palter? 
Yours was no hand to stir the puppet-shows, 
Theirs was no voice to v^ex your dear repose, 
Your minstrelsy of ancient harp and psalter. 



Where is the ardent spirit that will stay 
Within the confines of its own domain? 
Eager and strong to dare you fell away 
Amid the tumult loud and chaos vain. 
Then did you know shame, sorrow, anger, 

strife — 
The many jangled, tangled chords of life. 



52 



-SONNETS FROM THE PORTU- 
GUESE" 

Let not the volume fall within your hands, 
Save fitly it may greet you — in a mood 
As when the weight of dark begms to brood 
On common objects and unlovely lands. 
Then all inviolate your soul's self stands. 
And wild Regret may munch her bitter food, 
And Hope resurgent flash her crimson flood 
Unheeded, where the voice of Peace com- 
mands. 

O hour of twilight ! Tenderest hour o^ time ! 
Then Fancy's form shall pause with folded 

wings, 1.1- 

Reverent to know the rapture worship brings; 
Then vain shall seem the play of all the arts. 
Before these murmurings of a love sublime — 
The close-Hnked flowering of perfect hearts. 



53 



MORNING-GLORIES 

Few pilgrims for your dewy purple care, 
O rambling gentle flower, for me always 
Memorial of such early blessed days ! 
What tender sigh, what depths of voiceless 

prayer 
Rise from your fragile campanile there ! 
Fashioned like ears that crimson at their 

praise. 
You shyly tremble from too rude a gaze ; 
And the loving earth disputes you with the 

air. 



Others are more vociferous than this: 
There's the hot peony blushing at her bliss, 
Quick pansies, whispering of a match begun; 
Gay Girasole spins upon the lawn. 
Her robes are flaunted at her gallant Sun, 
But yours are sparkling with the tears of 
Dawn. 



54 



VIOLETS 

Violets that are as buried treasure cast 
Into the wintry lap of forests old ! 
Pilgrims of dusky passion that enfold 
Within your maiden chalices a vast 
Deep sweet of youth ! Who would not stand 

aghast 
To see a rude foot crush you In the mould? 
To scent your soft breath lure him from the 

cold, 
Who would not turn, who would not melt at 

last? 



Flowers, endue with misty purple haze 

The form of one whom many eyes have 

scanned. 
The flower of all the flowers of the land! 
Show her the modest service of your days. 
Teach her to dwell content In woodland ways. 
Charming the few who feel and understand. 



S5 



ROSES 

Roses, because your soul Is stainless white — 
Roses, because your warm blood runneth red 
In lips that will not touch them. I have fled 
Beyond the crimson mountains of delight, 
With feverish winds, towards hotter skies 

bedight 
With burning planets — hither have I sped 
To pluck you these, where tranquil poppies 

shed 
Far safer dreams of drowsiness and night. 



Petals that you have torn ! A waste of leaves ! 
Fast-dying fragrance of the sunnier days ! 
What have dead flowers to do with blank 

November? 
She who knew not before will not remember 
Now, when the birds no longer sing her 

praise, 
When slow sad rain drips dully from the 

eaves. 



56 



^'A MOMENT'S ORNAMENT" 

That whole day In my fancy there had warred 
Romantic woodland longings with the great 
Sad thoughts of greater souls. "She will 

come late," 
They said, but woke In me no warning chord. 
Then suddenly upon the moonlit sward 
There you were dancing, singing at Joy's 

gate ! 
Was It the heel of undlscerning Fate? 
Was It the right hand of a pitying Lord? 



It shone above your pale scarf shimmering 

bright, 
The face that has been known to many men : 
A face of Ivory tones and dusky light, 
With fire-fly eyes that found me through the 

night. 
Long shall I see you as I saw you then — 
A sylph, an Ariel — and a Cellmene. 



57 



ROSEMARY FOR REMEMBRANCE 

Lest I forget the amber of thine eyes 

And cumbering years obscure thy wistful face, 

And sad expedients rob me of the grace 

To claim with candor what I fain would 

prize — 
Lest duller visions blur the smile that flies 
And fleets on parted lips, and would erase 
Thy wan charm hesitant, to furnish place 
For ordinary faces and their lies — 



I store one word, and that not made to last; 
One film of gold, and that shall time alloy; 
Yet in the night-time when the Needs are 

dumb. 
And meaner voices for a while succumb, 
I say the word, ignoring in my joy 
What waste of wrecks may strew the frozen 

past, 



AL AMOR DEL LUMBRE 

Never In haunts of men or hurried mart, 
While flaunt the banners of the garish day, 
Have I perceived thy presence; though I 

stray 
To calmer shades and soothe my fluttered 

heart, 
Where life-throbs pulse and urgent fancies 

dart, 
Plucked from the ugly fury of the fray — 
Not always then. Impatient as I pray, 
Wilt thou the dream of thy dear grace impart. 



No earthly mansion thine — but when the 

hour 
Of sleep steals sweetly o'er the baflied soul, 
Clasped in the sure arm of some awful power, 
The while the unending aeons round me 

roll- 
Then, in the rest of home, the peace of night. 
Thy radiant robes flesh their supernal light. 



59 



DREAM OF A TRYST 

There is a spot In the soul's country, far 
Exalted from the seething of the street, 
A place appointed where we two should meet, 
Where queenly hearts and kingly powers are. 
I dreamt I trod the way with many a scar, 
Sick-willed and pale, scant breath and bruised 

feet. 
Borne onward by the gleam I thought so 

sweet, 
Immutable, immortal as a star ! 



They only let look within the gates — 
I could not see your face — I turned aside. 
"And she not there, my wandering one!" I 

cried. 
"My path was strewn with briers by the fates, 
My faith was blind and still I have not 

quailed, 
But you, why have you failed, why have you 

failed?" 



60 



FINIS 

When you withdrew your hand, those other 

hands 
That held the lights of heaven in their place 
Fell all together, and through saddened space 
I heard that clangor, and through darkened 

lands. 
When you spoke not, my spirit in her bands 
Bowed down; that silence smote our earthly 

race : 
No birds would sing a dirge for our disgrace, 
No voice of Christ could lay his high com- 
mands. 



If nevermore your hand with steadfastness 
Uplift that light — If I may not believe 
That low and honied voice which did confess 
In all my dreams its love — 1 still shall bless 
The sun-crowned hills I saw ; though memory 

weave 
Such grieving words that even you must 

grieve. 



6i 



LUX OCEANO 
I 

Drawn past the gasping dreams of Doubt and 

Wonder, 
I was admitted to a hidden bower; 
There stood my lady-lily like a tower; 
And I, forgetful of the months that sunder, 
Of piteous nights, of daily day-time blunder, 
Drew near and simply kissed her — Ah, that 

hour! 
Then certain sullen clouds began to lour 
And the swift surf of life swept up in thunder. 



Wisdom, if I could hold her fluttering hands 
Across the chasm of a thousand miles, 
Hear the low voice of her who understands. 
And with a sovereign kiss assail her smiles. 
How shall that ocean harsh dismay my rime. 
How shall I fear that sundering sword of 
time ? 



62 



II 



She lingered by that ocean's battling marge, 
And chose life's shell and held It to her ear. 
Some marvel of strange voices deep and clear 
She heard, a symphony subdued yet large. 
One voice spoke not — Life left It to my 

charge 
To flute so woolngly that she must hear 
A tale of how a laughing boy could steer 
Through sun-touched riotous waves our silver 

barge. 



"How can I tell," she questioned with a 

frown, 
"Since to both ears there comes a note of bliss, 
Where the true secret and the soul-joy Is — 
Whether the surge of life or love's renown?" 
Over each ear I placed a hand, drew down 
Her face most meet for silent ministries. 



63 



ALONE 

Give up ! There Is no way to penetrate 
Another's soul. Deep-gazing I divine 
Far in the waste of eyes I may call mine, 
Or in the answering body's clasp elate 
With joy and life, the will to share our fate — 
And what is mine is mine and thine is thine, 
And all inquiring fervor must decline. 
Ending in after-passion, nearer hate. 



Is it a friend who shares your inmost thought? 
Heaven pity him ! He knows the foam, the 

lees, 
The savor; as one thinks he loves the trees 
Because October's fading foliage caught 
His fancy ; best to keep our cells unsought. 
Our prisoner's crust, our couch of little ease. 



64 



TO A PORTRAIT BY SHANNON 

I think that In your bowed head's pensive 

pose 
Shadow and love and love and shadow meet ; 
I think those faint eyes ne'er were made to 

greet 
Man's eyes alight ; and yet I know the rose, 
The sudden carmine of your visage glows 
With wondering hope at sound of hurried 

feet, 
And his strong arm shall bear you from your 

seat, 
And your lax form shall start, as under blows. 



She seems part dove, part fawn, and all a 

maid; 
For like the one she stilly waits her love ; 
And like the other Is her pretty fright; 
O Lady, let me praise anci take delight 
From overseas ! Fear not, O Fawn, O Dove, 
My ardor too remote to make afraid. 



6s 



"THE GOLDEN ROSE'' 

In ample Paradise, when all was known 
Save Knowledge, and the heavy hinting hours 
Stole with a whispered portent past the bow- 
ers 
Which the first pair had made, Eve stood 

alone 
One brooding Sabbath noon, when joy had 

flown, — 
Alone, on tiptoe, trampling on all flowers. 
And rosy-limbed and reaching for new Pow- 
ers, 
She plucked a Painted Apple for her own ! 



On lofty Monserrat, where angels' wings 
Swept nearer than we know, we may believe 
That One in samite for boys' lips held up — 
No Golden Rose — a lowly service-cup. 
No Golden Roses live with mortal things; 
And Perceval — did he not find his Eve? 



66 



A SINGER AT A MATINEE 

There was a flush, a flash, a golden note, 
A sudden hint of starlight and of eve; 
A roll of waters and of winds that grieve 
Amid strong triumph pealing from her throat ; 
Then you were lulled as In a faery boat 
On faery lakes, and you were made to leave 
All the old lands that lure us and deceive 
For lands whereof no mortal ever wrote. 



Beside me sat a child. This was her place, 
This faery lake ! Such light shone from her 

face 
That knew no world of compromise and pain. 
But when the last note brought the burst of 

cheers, 
The child grew up, shivered and said with 

tears, 
"Mother, why did she stop? It's day again." 



67 



CASAUBON TO DOROTHEA 

You liked the statue In the Vatican, 

And thought I should have looked with you ? 

That we — 
(Oh, Dorothea, had you tried to see 
Within the scholar's husk the struggling 

man !) 
I had my scruples: in this earthly span 
Each fleeting form is folly. Fide "Key." 
(And bitterness was all you brought to me!) 
They worshipped mice in Tyre and Hindoos- 
tan. 



Madam, you could not comprehend; your 

mind 
Knew neither scholar's doubt nor poet's pain. 
(But once I thought her tears were blessed 

rain 
To draw a budding soul — oh, lost!) I find 
In Pope and in Propertius mention kind 
Of husk that holds a living golden grain. 



68 



NEBULOUS 

Is it the mist that crushes us — the dim 
Restraining smoke of earth which glides and 

binds, 
Mysteriously troubling as it winds? 
The sun leers down, an eye without a rim, 
That sees too well. Shall we not question him 
Of trees phantasmal to our cumbered minds? 
Each drifting sound a dubious echo finds. 
Music? The frail clear laugh of seraphim! 



Veiled are the summits which would doom 

our wills; 
But yonder through her vestiture of trees. 
Blurring the subtler surer symphonies, 
Rushes the vision of Delight that kills — 
The slope of shoulders brighter than the hills, 
The gleam of eyes more wayward than the 

breeze ! 



69 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



DEC 21 1909 p 



